


Curl around me (like a cat)

by blueberrywizard



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Caring Illya, I don't know what happened here, I just like to hurt Napoleon, Illya is soft for Napoleon but what's new, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's just a bunch of headcanons I have glued together to make a fic, M/M, implied/referenced PTSD, no beta we die like women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 23:43:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20054482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberrywizard/pseuds/blueberrywizard
Summary: Napoleon makes himself look smaller when nobody's watching.It's something that Illya wouldn't think he'd witness, but it's true.





	Curl around me (like a cat)

**Author's Note:**

> tw: references for child abuse and ptsd are so tiny they're barely there, but it could be triggering
> 
> It's my first work in English for this fandom and I'm kinda insecure bc this fic is hell of a mess, especially at the end, but hey, it was fun to write so I'll hope you'll like it too!

Napoleon makes himself look smaller when nobody's watching. 

It's something that Illya wouldn't think he'd witness, but it's true. He's not aware of it at the beginning of their acquaintance, mostly because they were enemies (forced to be partners, but still enemies) and he was acting, like he always does. And, after Illya gave it a closer look, he could see the difference. 

You see, Illya knows very well about the effect Napoleon has on people. His shoulders are broad, his hips are narrow, he's tall, so when he stands like he could make the whole world crawl at his feet, he's the opposite of small. Napoleon is as confident as any brilliant general could be, and they both know it that he actually is brilliant. 

What Illya didn't know back then is how much Napoleon relies on his masks. He knows spies are supposed to have masks on masks and handful of secrets in their pockets, but let's face the truth: Illya is not that kind of spy. He can kick ass and he's an exquisite marksman, but he's not James Bond type of spy. Napoleon, however, is. He seduces people and then he robs them. He's a thief, and a very good one, but sometimes it makes Illya think that maybe this is what makes someone a good spy. What's the difference between some files and jewellery? 

Then he realised that you get so tangled up in your own web, you will never get out. Like Napoleon. 

It's not easy or quick remark. It took months and months of gaining trust and sleeping in more than awful places. But one day — it's here. Illya didn't know what he was looking at at first, it was truly a casual view. Napoleon was curled on a sofa, with some book in his hands. There was a cozy looking knitted blanket near his feet, and freshly brewed coffee in black mug. The atmosphere was peaceful at the apartment, Napoleon and Illya had been waiting for Gaby to come back with new files, and Illya has been staring at the chessboard for ages. 

Then he lifted up his eyes from the table and he looked, really looked, at Napoleon. He didn't realise back then how quiet he was. But he saw his curled shoulders and slightly twisted legs, like he was trying to get on the smallest possible surface he could. 

He didn't understand that. He thought a man as confident as Napoleon should sit as surely, like a king of the world. So, Illya was curious and he did something every good spy should do.

Observe. Collect information. Take action. 

So Illya did that. 

* * *

Illya was an incredibly patient man. He was excellent chess player and actually a good spy, thank you very much, so he knew patience. He never rushed things, he preferred to let them flow and then changing what he didn’t like or he couldn’t make himself to like  _ (this beautiful white german shepherd dog he couldn’t have him he knew that they would make him die he didn’t want him to die to starve to be in pain like he was) _ . 

Observing Napoleon was probably the most exhausting thing he had ever done in his life. It’s not like it was something that bored him, no. Illya could watch him every single second of the day and it would never be enough. But Napoleon rarely slipped. He was always aware of his surrounding, shielding himself from the world with his broad shoulders and perfectly cut suits. And Illya couldn’t predict when the slip may happen. He just needed to wait for it. 

But Illya couldn't predict any pattern. It didn't happen for months, and then he could catch him curled in armchair for two nights in a row. Both times he had something in his hands, to keep them busy probably. But it didn't matter if it was a book or a crystal tumbler filled with wonderfully cold amber liquid - Illya felt it was something to make him a bit calmer, like fiddling could take some of his thoughts away.

And he still didn't know  _ why. _

* * *

The next thing Illya knew about this particular  _ mood _ Napoleon sometimes had: he didn't like loud noises.

It saddened Illya, just a bit. From KGB's files, he was aware that even though Napoleon's army days were, from the lack of other word, late, it was an experience that could be considered as  _ traumatic.  _ But it looked like shots and shouts never bothered him, as long as  _ the mood _ hadn't been involved. And even if it was involved, he never reacted violently. He just flinched, barely noticeable for someone who didn't know where to look. And most of the times he got it pretty well covered - he smoothed out the movement with another one, like when he covered a sharp flinch with getting up for a fresh cup of tea. 

It was the worst when he, obviously, wasn’t expected it. He reacted only once though.

Illya weren’t scared, because it took more to make him scared  _ (like blood like pain like death and he couldn’t he can’t stop it they die he dies and he loves them he loves him more than life please don’t) _ , but it definitely made him… concerned. 

It was Gaby’s fault, really. She rarely cooked, preferring to stay around machines and cars. Napoleon said once it’s better for everyone’s sake, but truth to be told, she wasn’t the worst cook ever. Illya liked when she did scrambled eggs for breakfast (sometimes for dinner if mission was a particular pain in their asses). She always added chopped and fried with onion  _ wurst _ and she told him the secret ingredient was to mix eggs with just a little bit of milk -  _ “That’s what makes the eggs fluffy, don’t tell Solo” _ . 

So Gaby made eggs for dinner this time - they’re back from Istanbul for the third time in four months, it became to feel tiresome for him. They were at Illya’s place, otherwise she would never do anything when it comes to cooking (Napoleon’s more than protective of his kitchen). They were listening to soft jazz song, quietly playing on the radio and Napoleon was dozing on a couch. His hair were breaking loose from heavy hold of his pomade, jacket was abandoned on the nearest chair, he even opened first two buttons of his shirt. It was calm and peaceful.

Until it wasn’t. 

Illya flinched when loud, unpleasant noise of metal colliding with ceramic tiles resonated in the whole apartment. There wasn’t even a second of pause between this surprising sound and a very creative stream of german curses. He relaxed his tensed muscles and breathed slowly, knowing it was just Gaby who was trying to change his kitchen into a battlefield, but quick glance at Napoleon stopped him. Illya didn’t know when American had stood up - he frantically looked around the space and rapidly went to the kitchen. Illya decided it was the best to go after him.

“Oh, Solo, I’m handling it, you don’t have to…”

“Shhh.” He stopped her and Illya knew she would be furious if it wasn’t for his panicked eyes and the fact he positioned himself between her and the door. 

Illya was a good observer and he knew how one behave when one’s trying to protect someone. He was doing the same for his mother, a long time ago.

“Napoleon. We’re all alone here.” His voice was calm and collected, he was careful because if he’ll sound even borderline patronising, Napoleon may snap and then they’ll have a problem.

Deep breath and then…

“Yeah.” 

As quick as he came, he left. Illya saw how he curled on the furthest part of the couch, taking his tie off and adjusting tiny knitted pillow to lay on it more comfortable. 

Somehow, this view broke his heart. 

“What was that?” Gaby asked quietly.

Illya just shook his head.

Now, he knew that there’s some story Napoleon had never told them. And he probably never will.

* * *

Napoleon braced himself after the kitchen incident. He was more wary of everything and everyone around him. Never at ease, never relaxed.

Illya missed it, just a bit. 

He liked how soft he was looking, he liked knowing that there’s more to life than pain and strength they worked with. He liked how peaceful it was. 

He liked being calm with him. 

This sudden change also affected their relationship. Not very significantly, but it did. Illya was aware that they danced around each other so much, it slowly was becoming obvious to anyone who knew them. The point is, he didn’t want anything to change. 

He didn’t want  _ them _ to change.

* * *

It turned out that Napoleon didn’t want them to change either, but at the same time they changed everything.

Yes, it only took three months, four missions and two bullet holes in Napoleon’s ( _ “It was brand new, Peril, I had it only for five days. It’s a crime against humanity!” _ ) suit, but they could say the dance was finally over. 

Nevertheless, Illya felt like there still were unspoken things between them. From both sides, he wasn’t a hypocrite. He wasn’t exactly honest with his past and it was something he didn’t like or want to talk about. 

Napoleon didn’t care, for all it matters. 

But he definitely cared about Illya curled around him in bed on the Sunday morning, when sun just rose and everything - for once in their lives - were just  _ perfect. _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> It started as "Napoleon is actually very vulnerable while exhausted or near death or actually quite content it depends" and it ended as that. It is what it is, as they say. I just wanted to write a bit about my boys and their issues (I miss these spy idiots).
> 
> I apologise for any errors or grammar mistakes, I tried my best to make it at least "readable"


End file.
